The Law and Ginny Marlow Read online

  Ginny picked up the pillow from the floor and tossed it back on the bed, her eyes daring Jenny to reach for it. “More than likely, it’ll be Mrs. Cutler coming up to get you, and I don’t think you want to show her how pigheaded you are, especially after the way she treated you last night.”

  Jenny sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. She dragged her hand through her hair.

  “Pigheaded,” she echoed with a disparaging frown. “That means I’d fit right in here.”

  No, she didn’t fit right in here. With her attitude, the only place Jenny fit in was amid misfits and troublemakers. Ginny would die before she let her exist in a place like that.

  For just a moment, she found herself wishing that whatever it was Quint had in mind for Jenny would work before he washed his hands of her, disgusted by Jenny’s chip-on-her-shoulder attitude.

  “Just keep that smart mouth of yours closed around here, all right?” she warned Jenny. “These are nice people.”

  Jenny eyed her clothes, thinking of the day ahead. The old man in the store would probably work her until she dropped. He looked the type. “Nice people don’t condone slavery.”

  Jenny had developed a knack of turning things around, of always making it seem as if she were the innocent, put-upon victim, Ginny thought. The only thing Jenny was a victim of was her own nasty disposition.

  Ginny fixed her with a look. “Nice people don’t shoplift.”

  The dark eyes shot daggers back at her. “I was hungry!”

  Excuses, always excuses. “You wouldn’t have been if you’d stayed home where you belong.”

  Jenny finally scrambled out of bed. On her knees, arms rebelliously crossed before her chest, Jenny glared at her. “How would you know where I belong? You don’t know anything about me anymore.”

  They were back to that again. All they seemed to do was go round and round the same subject. Jenny seemed bent on making her feel as if everything was her fault. Ginny refused to let Jenny see that she’d succeeded in making her feel guilty again, but it wasn’t easy keeping the emotions from her face.

  She pressed her lips together. “Just get ready, all right?”

  It took all she could do not to slam the door in her wake as she left. But a temper tantrum wouldn’t solve anything.

  It wouldn’t even make her feel better.

  She made her way downstairs, feeling less than human, less than friendly.

  How had she gotten to this state in life? Working twelve-hour days, no social life to speak of and for what? For a sister who hated her?

  A wave of utter defeat tried to work its way through her as her foot met the bottom of the stairs. Ginny fought it off.

  There was a light pooling along the floor, coming from the end of the hall. Someone was in the kitchen.

  Like a nearly frozen puppy drawn to the warmth of a roaring fire, Ginny was drawn to the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee coming from the kitchen.

  Mrs. Cutler was up early, she mused. She wondered if this was the woman’s usual hour, or if having them here had intruded on her schedule.

  Ginny stopped short in the doorway. It was Quint, not Zoe in the kitchen. Because his back was to her, she paused a moment to watch him, half in disbelief, half in fascination.

  First thing in the morning, and the man looked wide-awake and ready to take on the world. Had to be the air out here, she thought.

  He was humming a tune she didn’t recognize under his breath and was doing something at the stove. Unconsciously, her eyes swept along his tall frame, lingering at the way his worn jeans fit his hips and neatly hugged his butt.

  Probably not an ounce of fat on him and she’d be willing to bet the man had no idea what the inside of a fitness gym looked like.

  She thought of the way he’d kissed her last night. Even now, the memory brought a fresh ripple of excitement to her.

  Why hadn’t some woman made off with him by now?

  The answer was simple. He was probably having too good a time to get serious.

  Ginny decided that it was best if she weren’t alone with him just yet. Maybe she’d see about hurrying Jenny along.

  About to retreat, she heard Quint offer a cheery, “’Morning,” without even turning around.

  Ginny stared at the back of his head. She hadn’t made any noise. “How did you know I was here?”

  Quint turned around, two cups of coffee, hot and black, in his hands. Crossing to the table, he held one out toward her. Almost reluctantly she came into the room and accepted the offering.

  The smile he gave her warmed her more than the sides of the steaming cup she grasped.

  “I could say I had eyes in the back of my head, but truth is, I saw your reflection in the glass oven door.” He nodded his head toward the wide range behind him. Straddling the kitchen chair, he lowered himself into it and motioned for her to follow suit. When she sat down, he asked amiably, “Did you sleep well?”

  So, they were going to engage in neutral conversation over their coffee. She could handle that. Ginny relaxed a little. “Better than I thought.”

  Quint took a long sip, savoring the dark brew. He liked muscle in his coffee. “Why’s that? Can’t sleep in strange places?”

  She wondered if she looked tired, then wondered why that should matter to her. She wasn’t out to dazzle him, just to get this over with.

  “Not usually.”

  The soft laugh curled through her like hypnotic smoke. “Me, I’ve never had that problem. Hank always said I could sleep in a closet, hanging from a hook. Ma says it’s the sleep of an honest man with a clear conscience.”

  Her look sharpened. “Meaning what?”

  She was getting her back up again, Quint thought. It had taken all of ten seconds. Had to be a record, somewhere. He kept his voice low, amiable, the way he would if he were trying to tame a wild animal and make it into a pet.

  “Meaning I have a clear conscience, nothing else.” He leaned forward, cup in both hands, his eyes on her face. “Geneva, if you don’t mind my saying so, you’ve really got to get over thinking everything has some sort of hidden meaning behind it. Sometimes an acorn is just an acorn—”

  Not with her luck lately. “Instead of a miniature bomb?”

  He laughed, downing more of his coffee. He was beginning to feel fortified. “You have turned being suspicious into an art form, haven’t you?”

  Ginny shrugged, feeling self-conscious, yet for some reason, feeling oddly at ease at the same time. She tried to enjoy it instead of dismantling it for further examination. “Maybe.”

  There was no maybe about it, Quint thought. The lady was going to wear herself out before she reached thirty, and that would be a powerful waste of a natural resource. “Learn to relax, you’ll live longer.”

  Ginny thought back to her days in Smoke Tree, to the life-style there. She couldn’t wait to get out. “It’s not longer, it just seems that way.”

  That sounded oddly like the voice of experience. Quint laughed, shrugging.

  “Either way—” He let his voice trail off, leaving it up to her to finish the thought.

  Draining the last of his coffee, he glanced at his watch and then at the door. “Where’s your sister?” He would have thought the two of them would have come down together.

  “Still upstairs, I guess.” She hoped Jenny hadn’t gone back to sleep. “I woke her up and told her to get ready just before I came down.”

  That being the case, he’d give the girl a few more minutes before he went up and knocked on the door. Quint rose again, taking his empty cup to the counter. This morning, he needed a second cup to get rolling.

  “She’d better hustle if she wants a decent breakfast before we leave.”

  Ginny looked around, still surprised that she didn’t see Zoe. “Where’s your mother?”

  Quint took out a large pan and placed it on the burner. “I told her to sleep in this morning, that I’d take care of breakfast.”

  “You?”

  The disbelief
in her voice nearly made him laugh out loud. “What’s the matter, don’t men cook breakfast in your world?”

  He took out a carton of eggs with one hand, a plate of ham that had already been sliced with the other. Quint used his hip to close the door. Scrambled eggs and fried ham all around seemed simplest.

  Ginny couldn’t picture him doing anything as domestic as cooking. She had an easier time envisioning him slaying game and dragging it to the table. He seemed far too physical a man to cook.

  “Men open boxes of cereal in my world—sometimes badly when they get frustrated.”

  The remark had him turning to look at her. How many lovers had she had and why hadn’t she struck a match to one of them long enough to get a ring out of it? Was it by choice? Was she as discerning as he was, or was there another reason she was single?

  “Does that happen often, Ginny? Do men get frustrated around you?”

  She knew what he meant. The question was far too personal and hit far too close to home. She wasn’t an iceberg, she just hadn’t been able to open herself up for a relationship. She’d always been too afraid of being hurt. Of ending up the way her mother had been. Always at the mercy of some man, always looking for a way to anesthetize the hurt.

  She drew herself up. “What does that have to do with Jenny?”

  The look in his eyes went right through her, stripping her of bravado. She felt as if there was no way she could lie to him, that somehow he’d know. Which was ridiculous.

  “Not a thing.”

  The back door slammed shut, shattering the pregnant moment. It was followed by a very indignant squeal of protest that sounded too much like Jenny not to be. Ginny could feel her heart sinking. Now what?

  Quint exchanged looks with Ginny before abandoning breakfast to investigate the source of the noise. He was spared the trouble.

  The next moment, Carly walked in, bearing a wiggling, cursing Jenny slung over his broad shoulder, fireman-style. He seemed oblivious to the names she was heaping on his head and what she was saying about his ancestry.

  Ginny wasn’t and she was mortified.

  Carly grinned affably, nodding a greeting at Ginny before reporting to Quint. “Look what I found sneaking out to the barn.” He turned around so that Jenny could face his cousin.

  Quint’d had a hunch that she might try to get away. That was why he and Carly had taken turns staying awake and standing guard outside.

  “So, decided to broaden your résumé by turning to horse stealing?” Quint asked. The girl’s cheeks were crimson with indignation. She was going to be something else when she got to be Ginny’s age, he judged. If she lived that long. “Put her down, Carly.”

  Carly did as he was told. Jenny looked furious enough to spit.

  “I wasn’t going to steal him. I was going to borrow him,” she cried heatedly. “But this Neanderthal grabbed me from behind and dragged me over here before I could explain.”

  Chagrined and furious at this slap-in-the-face her sister had delivered to their hosts, Ginny was torn between her natural instincts to come to her aid and her sense of justice. The latter dictated that she join the other side.

  She did.

  “I don’t believe you did that. What were you thinking?” she demanded, confronting Jenny. Jenny refused to look at her. “You can’t even ride.”

  Jenny set her mouth bitterly. “He does it.” She jerked an accusing thumb at Carly. “How hard can it be?”

  Though his smile was still in place, the look in Quint’s eyes was dead-on and stern. This was not, he thought, going to be as easy as he would have liked. That just told him that Ginny needed help with this handful she was trying to raise.

  “Put in a couple of solid days at the store helping Taylor, and I’ll give you a riding lesson so that you can see for yourself how hard—or easy—it can be. Now sit down and behave yourself. Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  Annoyed, embarrassed, Jenny did as she was told. But to show she wasn’t really being submissive, she fixed a sullen stare on the place setting.

  “I want to apologize.” Feeling awkward, Ginny forced herself to turn toward Quint in the car as she tendered the words.

  It had been more than two hours since the incident in the morning. They had just left Jenny with Joe Taylor at the general store. The old man had her stocking the shelves with a fresh delivery of canned goods. Carly had opted to hang around for a bit in case Jenny had any ideas about repeating her early-morning performance.

  Harboring the same concerns, Ginny was silently grateful to him.

  “About what?” Quint guided his car toward the sheriff’s office. A telltale squeal accompanied a right turn. The car was going to have to go in for work soon, he mused.

  Ginny lowered her eyes to the dashboard. This wasn’t easy for her. She’d long since given up making apologies for anything, least of all her family.

  “About Jenny trying to steal your horse.” She blew out a breath. There was no sense in holding back. All in all, he’d been pretty nice about this whole thing. “About Jenny, in general.”

  Quint didn’t want her squirming uncomfortably, so he let her off the hook quickly. “Your sister’s a good kid. She’s just angry, that’s all.”

  Ginny appreciated the comment, but in a way, it made it that much harder for her. Had Quint been critical of Jenny, she could have rallied to Jenny’s defense. That he was understanding forced her to be negative—and truthful. “That’s no excuse.”

  “No, it isn’t,” he agreed, “but it does give us something to work with, something to try. to fix.” He pulled the car into a space right behind the single-story building.

  “Us?” Had she missed something? Since when had they actively joined forces in this?

  He flashed a grin. The lady certainly was touchy about help. “Figure of speech generally, but in this case, since you’re here—”

  Ginny’d always been leery of people volunteering to take over. They usually tried to assume control and she wasn’t about to relinquish that to anyone, even a well-meaning, good-looking country sheriff. “And Jenny’s my problem—”

  Quint glided over her words as if he hadn’t heard them. “And this is my town, I figure that qualifies you and me as an ‘us.’”

  She had other ideas on the matter. To begin with, he made it much too simple. If it were that easy, she would have been able to set things straight a long time ago, when she first noticed the change in Jenny.

  “And you think by making her work at the general store for a week, that’ll fix everything.”

  Quint would have had to have been deaf to have missed the sarcasm in her voice.

  “Ten days,” he corrected mildly. “And no, it won’t fix everything, but it’s a start and that’s what we need.” Before she could protest that all-encompassing word, he added, “I’ve got other thoughts on this.”

  The leeriness returned, but it wasn’t nearly as all-consuming as it had been. Just why did he take this on as his own crusade? Ginny wondered. There had to be more to it than what he was saying, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what. No one had ever put themselves out for her or Jenny. Not even her mother’s family. They’d been all too happy to wash their hands of them, and here was this stranger who wanted to help her bring Jenny back into the fold. What was in it for him?

  “Such as?”

  Quint pulled up on the hand brake and got out of the car. “Ever see Captains Courageous?” Rounding the hood, he managed to open the passenger door for Ginny before she had a chance to.

  Getting out, Ginny shook her head. “No, never heard of it. Why?”

  “It’s a great old movie. You should catch it sometime.” He warmed to his subject as he walked with her to the front of the building. “There’s this rich, spoiled kid who falls overboard, and he’s rescued by the crew of a fishing vessel. At first he’s just like your sister, stuck up, demanding, a real pain in the butt.” The warning look on Ginny’s face didn’t stop him. She couldn’t ar
gue with him about her sister’s disposition, he thought, at least, not truthfully. “But there’s this one fisherman who sees right through him. Sees the good that’s buried inside, looking to get free and he sets about making it come out. He puts the kid to work, makes him see what it feels like to pull his own weight, to be part of something. To be proud of what he is for a reason, not because he’s a rich man’s son. By the end of the movie, he’s a regular likable kid.”

  And he was casting himself as the fisherman, she thought. “What happens to the fisherman?”

  “He dies. Gets tangled up in a net and drowns,” he said matter-of-factly. “But we don’t have to go that far.” Quint winked at her.

  When he realized that she’d stopped walking next to him, he turned to look at her. “What?”

  “Will you stop doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  She ran her tongue along her bottom lip, debating not saying anything. And then the words just came out. “Winking at me.”

  “Why, does it bother you?”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled open the front door and waited until she walked in first. “Good, I’ll remember that.”

  She had the uneasy feeling that he would.

  7

  “No, that’s all right, David, I really don’t need rescuing.”

  Ginny frowned as she conjured up a mental image of the tall, thin man on the other end of the line. He was enjoying this, enjoying her dilemma. She should have known he would.

  The moment Quint had gone into the next room, a tiny broom-closetlike area that served as an impromptu kitchen whenever the weather turned too cold to go out for coffee, she had immediately reached for the telephone. Dreading making the call, she’d quickly dialed the number to her law office. She had to let them know that she wasn’t coming in for a while.

  As soon as she’d gotten David on the line, Quint had walked in. Ginny lowered her voice as much as she could without making it overly obvious that she was whispering.